Beneath The Cherry Blossoms
by Primordial Falls
Summary: I watched this "love" of theirs blossom and bear fruit, from the time they were but tiny little seedlings, to the day that they fell and rejoined the earth, one after the other. Warnings: Unusual (and normally impossible) POV, ChikaNari, character death(s). One-shot.


**I do not own Sengoku Basara.**

**Pairing: ChikaNari (Chosokabe Motochika x Mori Motonari), tiny bit of DateSana**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

There is a small, elevated piece of land, one that could barely be called a hill, sitting in the middle of an open field. Grass carpets the soil, and a single seedling is planted in the middle of the hill, accompanied by stones and fallen leaves. That seedling so firmly planted in the middle of the hill is me. I am a winter sakura, one of the more fortunate of my relatives. My flowers bloom in the fall and continue blooming throughout the winter, so they do not die and return the nourishment I have given them to me as quickly, unlike my relatives, whose flowers bloom for only a week and die afterward.

At least, that is what the wind tells me. The two seedlings crushing the grasses, who have always said that they do not mind being crushed, seem to be facing the problem of overcrowding. One seedling wishes for the other to leave, but the other refuses to move. The seedling who wanted the other to move informs the other seedling that if it can identify me, and inform it what is unique about me, it will not uproot it.

To the seedling's surprise, the other seedling makes an odd sound, and it manages to answer the question. Never before had I heard of such a thing as "winter" or a "sakura", but I suppose I am that. Also, the wind whispers that the odd sound is known as "laughing".

The seedling who asked the question still seems to not trust the other seedling, and abruptly turns around and leaves. The other seedling follows after, almost like an annoying parasitic plant. I think I understand why the seedling did not trust the other. I don't trust parasites.

I have learned many new things today. Usually no seedlings or plants visit me, because they do not have enough nourishment to ascend the hill, I suppose. Although, when I had just been acquainted with the soil, I did not mind the lack of company (the grasses could be _so _dry at times), I think that I would not mind having some seedlings near me at times.

Despite how the grasses warn me not to, I cannot help but hope that the seedlings will visit me again.

* * *

_It has been a long time since anyone's visited me._

* * *

Many other seedlings and plants come and go, but few make it up the hill. Those that come bring with them new things I could learn, but sometimes the wind is most unhelpful and blows the new things away. I want to learn more.

Today, the grasses whisper to each other that the seedlings from last time have grown taller, but only have two leaves and two roots, as well as a single bud. My flowers have not bloomed yet, meaning it is not "fall", so I cannot inquire as to what they mean. Yet, "anxiety" fills me and I find that I'd like it very much if the seedlings from last time came again. If those seedlings were the ones the grasses spoke of, I would want to know how tall they've grown, and how many rings they have. I have thirteen rings, and when the seedlings first came, I had eight. I am still very young, the grasses tell me, and so most seedlings are able to snap off my lower branches. It hurts when they snap off my branches.

I can feel that, yes, the seedlings have returned! But they have not grown to be as tall as me. At least I can offer them some refuge against the light. The wind sometimes says that seedlings do not like the light that feeds us.

They lean against me, as if their stems are too weak to support them anymore. The wind is erratic and excited today, and so I only hear certain new things. Perhaps their stems cannot support them because they are "tired".

Again, they bend their roots and crush the grasses with their weight. It irks me. Can they not move the grasses elsewhere, settle their roots in the soil and return the grasses when they uproot themselves? The grasses have mentioned before that no, these seedlings cannot do such a thing, but even the grasses do not know why.

I notice that one seedling is "quiet" and the other is "noisy". And since they have given me my own "name", I will give those names as well. The seedling that had wanted the other to move is "Quiet Seedling" while the one who had "laughed" is "Noisy Seedling".

Noisy Seedling says something about "feeling better" and not being so "down". It talks a lot, but Quiet Seedling does not even try to listen. Perhaps Quiet Seedling already knows all the things that Noisy Seedling speaks of. After a long, long time when the wind is blowing away from me and finally blows toward me, I hear Noisy Seedling suddenly speak very loudly, saying that Quiet Seedling was "unappreciative", and put a lot of pressure on the soil and grasses when he left.

The wind has begun to blow away, but I believe the wind says that Quiet Seedling had, very softly, whispered, "thank you".

What are these "thank" and "you"? Perhaps when they return, I will know, and my flowers will have blossomed, so I can tell them about all I have learnt from them, and that I "love" them very much, because I "love" having them around me.

The grasses laugh at me when my flowers bloom in the "fall" and I tell them so, and like the weeds they are, they suck up my dreams and spit them back at me covered in poison. Plants and moving plants do not communicate. It will never happen. We are in different worlds.

But I move as well, do I not?

Yes, they say, but they move faster, so they are walking plants while we are merely plants.

But then, if that is so, I point out, why is it that I can understand them, if we were not meant to communicate?

The grasses do not answer.

* * *

_It is not the one I am expecting, but instead, two other seedlings-no, young plants._

* * *

Two "falls" pass before the Quiet Seedling and Noisy Seedling return. This time, Noisy Seedling calls Quiet Seedling "Motonari" or "Mori" and Quiet Seedling calls him "Chosokabe" or, once in a very long time, "Motochika". I do not understand, so I ignore those new "names".

Noisy Seedling, no, Noisy Young Plant, seems to be much more "hesitant" today. He treats Quiet Young Plant with "caution" and seems to be "unsure" at times. This is different from the "brash", "bold" Noisy Seedling of before.

I can sense that Quiet Young Plant has noticed these changes by how he is even more quiet than usual. He must be thinking very hard about these changes, but he does not ask about them. Although, it could just be the wind being "temperamental" again and blowing in all sorts of directions. The wind is very excitable at times.

They talk "awkwardly" for a while more before Noisy Young Plant does something very queer. He suddenly grabs Quiet Young Plant and puts their "mouths" together, which causes the Quiet Young Plant to push against Noisy Young Plant and run away.

Noisy Young Plant stands still for a very long time, and when he leaves, his roots are dragging along the grasses. How irresponsible. One should pick up their roots if they are walking plants instead of torturing the poor grasses, who do their best to endure the pains they go through.

I wonder why I took in more salt than usual, though. Has my water source been contaminated? How worrying.

_They remove the soil at my base, and I can feel pressure on my roots, as well as the cold, dead material of one of my fallen brothers._

This time, they visit again after only one "fall", and over the course of that "fall", I have grown very much taller. And they even brought more Young Plants with them! One is excitable and even noisier than Noisy Young Plant, while the other is slightly less hot-headed and also seems to be less "dense".

I find it worrisome that Chosokabe (Motochika is Noisy Young Plant's name, but it is polite to call him Chosokabe. I have learnt much in a single "fall", and I understand "names" better now) and Mori do not seem to be getting along. Even the grasses can feel the awkwardness surrounding them, and they sway from side to side, unsure of what to make of this.

The wind must have sensed my "unease", because the wind is unusually cooperative today.

The two new young plants try to talk to them, but it generally does not get any sort of response until one of them says to tells Mori to "stop running away". Mori raises his voice, and my leaves start to tremble, as if to show I am scared. Chosokabe, too, raises his voice, and the two young plants begin to "fight".

The "fight" feels as long as all thirteen of the "falls" I have experienced, though the grasses assure me that it was not that long, and the two new young plants do not say a word. Ultimately, after a period of silence, Mori tries to leave again, but Chosokabe grabs on to his leaf and prevents him from doing so.

I stand by my belief that Chosokabe is actually a parasite.

They speak in lower voices this time, and in the end, Mori ends up being wrapped by Chosokabe's leaves.

I panic, but the grasses assure me that no, he is not a parasitic plant and the young plant is perfectly fine. This was known as a "hug", but they did not know how to explain it.

The two new young plants ("Sanada Yukimura" and "Date Masamune") seem to be "happier", and Sanada lets out an odd cry, most likely a "cheer". I do not understand what has happened, but the awkwardness is no longer there, and all seems well.

This time, when all the young plants leave, I find that my water is not contaminated after all.

* * *

_Drops of water seep into the soil, salty and nutritious._

* * *

Mori and Chosokabe come to visit me more frequently now. Over the next ten "falls", they visit many, many times. Sometimes, though, they "argue" (not "fight", as I had thought previously) about some matter or other. It makes me "sad".

Chosokabe does not approve of how Mori is a "workaholic", but Mori does not like how Chosokabe always tries to "distract" him. They argue many times, and they "hug" less and less. There are times when they are as cold as "winter" toward each other, and I do not like winter, although I am most beautiful then. Does it mean that through this "winter" of theirs, their "love" will grow to be more "beautiful"?

I also worry, because they sometimes say that my relatives and I symbolise "death", because our flowers do not bloom for very long. I do not want to be "death". "Death" makes young plants sad. I do not like making young plants "sad". They sometimes compare me to a rose, but a rose has thorns, and I do not have thorns.

However, on one of those days that they do not "argue" and are very "loving" to each other, Chosokabe says that I am also a symbol of love. Mori does not understand why initially, which is unusual because Mori also understands first, but Chosokabe "patiently" explains.

Although my relatives bloom for only a week and die after that week, I bloom throughout "fall" and "winter". My relatives symbolise love that lasts for a short time, but is full of "passion", but I symbolise love that lasts for "eternity", and is full of "love" in its "truest" form. I do not understand what it means, but for once Mori does not say anything against it, merely asking if that is so.

The next time they come, it is the first time I hear Mori say "love". The two young plants are "resting" against my bark, crushing the grasses again, but Chosokabe's leaves are around Mori's stem, "hugging" him to himself. Once again, my belief that he is a parasite resurfaces.

Chosokabe has always said that he "loves" Mori, but Mori always replies with a sound, never words. This time, though, he very softly whispers back that he "loves" Chosokabe too, much to Chosokabe's delight. They perform the queer "mouth" ritual, "kissing", and all sorts of weird stuff that I will most likely never understand, somewhat like the mating dance of the bees that pollinate my flowers.

For once, I think that maybe, just maybe, my flowers are beautiful and not symbols of "death" after all.

* * *

_The now-familiar presence of the seedlings the humans had taken care of is weighed down by grief._

* * *

They do not visit me for over twenty years. I have lost count, but I did feel extremely lonely. I am an adult plant now, I believe. My branches are high and provide much shade from the sun. My roots grow deeply, and are spread out over much of the little hill.

When they visit me, they bring two seedlings, one male and one female. They have a picnic under my beautiful blossoms, and I let some of my flower's petals rain down on them. The seedlings seem to be in awe of my blossoms, which I proudly display.

Chosokabe and Mori are older now, but they are not arguing anymore. Instead, they are very "loving" toward each other and "care" for the seedlings. It finally hits me that they must be taking care of seedlings which do not belong to them.

However, the grasses are quieter than normal, and the wind is still for once. I wonder why they are not as talkative as usual, and I inquire as to what has triggered the change in behaviour.

The grasses whisper very, very quietly amongst themselves, but I hear the words "lethal disease" and "dying". I search for signs that one of them has some sort of illness, my far-reaching roots gathering the information I am so desperate to obtain. This is not right. _This can't be right._

Why? Why must they be the ones out of the entire population of walking plants who have to deal with this disease? It isn't fair. They've gone through so many troubles over ten, no, over thirty "falls" to get to where they are now. They should be the part of the population who lived happily ever after. They deserve it more than any of the other plants who have ever been near me.

It is because of this that when Mori suddenly collapses and stops breathing, I "pity" Chosokabe and the seedlings, and my "heart", too, shatters into countless, irretrievable pieces. I know that Chosokabe has lost a piece of himself, and that he will never get it back.

* * *

_**Grief** that the ones that had __**loved **__them, nurtured them, and cared for them __**no longer walked in their world**__._

* * *

It goes against everything I have learned from experience and the grasses, but I wrap my roots around the coffins that have been buried side by side, binding the two humans together, even in death, and will guard their love until the day I wither and fade. Since they were the only ones to ever believe that I symbolised eternal, everlasting love in its truest and purest form, I was more than happy to repay the favour in whatever way I could.

Maybe it's because I wish so badly for it to be so, but for a moment, I imagine that now, and until the day it is my turn to die, I can finally talk to Motonari and Motochika, and they will talk back to me.

* * *

**Hope you liked the story. If there's anything that you don't understand, or if there's some error in this story, please tell me, be it through PM or review. Thanks for reading!**


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